Petals Falling in Sequence
by Darwin Outside
Summary: Draco is haunted with thoughts of his destiny, and of his hated rival, Harry Potter. Clearly the latter is a little more than just "healthy rivalry". In fact, one could swear it's an obsession. Slashy intentions, and influenced slightly by Dante.
1. Rust Coloured Cliffs

  
_Author's note: As always, reviews and constructive crit are greatly appreciated. Also, if anyone likes my story enough... or something like that, I am in need of a beta._ : )  
-----------------------------------------------   
  
Platform 9 and 3/4 again. It is cold, and dull. The famous Harry Potter should be arriving with his throng of sickeningly giddy fans. He makes me sick. Everyone cares about Potter.   
  
I get wary glances wherever I go. They know not to mess with me. I am king, their powerful dictator. They all fear me because of the Dark Lord. They know I'll be next, I'll stand up on stage and assume the role as humble servant. Or they think they know me. I might just prove them wrong.   
  
It is Father's fault. He created this dark child, and pushed me out and cut into my flesh. He carved words and spells into my mind, and the words flew. He created this monster, me. I can't blame him, entirely, though. He only wants what's best for his only dear son. This is his love, and I shall accept it most humbly.   
  
Well, look who's decided to arrive. Potter. Just when I was thinking that for once in my entire life I would have good luck. Potter and his fan club swarm like bees, getting ready to board the train, en route to Hogwarts. They're everywhere, and new ones, too. First years already shouting his name and trying to get a good look.   
  
Seven years that have all felt the same. Each year Perfect Potter manages to make himself a hero, and manages to push me even deeper underground into that black world of evil. It is quite surprising, actually. I thought hell would have been warmer, but it is just a cold, dark, and lonely place. Seven years of putting up with Potter, seven years of the sad warmth of good seeping into my very pores. Father hates it when I talk of the good winning this war.   
  
It's all how you look at it. Our dark side could be the good side, and they wouldn't even know it. It's like many mirrors all together. Which one reflects the truth?   
  
It doesn't matter if I think that Potter's side is right. I was born into this play, and my part is the part of the dark child. The dark child who no one can feel sorry for. Not even Potter the protagonist. Actors don't always pick the parts they play, they; just play them. Potter needs me though. He won't admit it, but he does. I am the foil of this play; I make him the hero. Without me, he wouldn't be that great.   
  
Back to the train. Everyone's boarding it, and if I don't hurry, I may get left behind. As if I hadn't enough things to be embarrassed about. I can just imagine Potter, Weasley, and Granger all getting a good laugh if I blundered like that. I won't let them have such gratification.   
  
Thank God I scare everyone, or it would have been impossible to find a free compartment. I laugh at a bunch of frightened first-years, who are whispering my name in quiet little shivers. My laughing makes them clear out faster. Why would I need company anyway? It's not like I really care whether I am alone or not, right? Besides, Crabbe and Goyle should be shuffling in the moment they find their brains. I swear, one could probably not find a dumber pair. For one who picked the intellectual flower of Hogwarts, Goyle isn't even weed-category. I don't really care if they show up or not. Maybe they are finally going to leave me alone.   
  
Speaking of weeds, where is that Pansy? I would have figured that she would be hanging all over me. Maybe she joined Potter's side. That would be marvelous. Ha! She is really quite daft if you ask me. She reminds me too much of my doting mother to actually be attractive.   
  
I can hear Potter's noisy fan club chattering. He must be in the compartment next to mine, or a few down. I want to get up, and maybe move around but I don't think I could stand seeing him, or even throwing a punch. It is all too sickening and perfect. When I walk out, I'll just turn the other way. I can be casual and suave that way. He is not better than I, why should I care what he thinks am? I should say something, though. I couldn't bear for him to think that I was becoming soft. I will just turn the other way, which is all that I will do. I won't notice him.   
  
But, of course! My plans never work as I wish. I turn straight into the woman with the candy cart. Perhaps I should look where I am going next time instead of worrying about stupid Potter and his dumb lot. Now they all are laughing at me, all I can do now is run out. I can still be graceful and I know it. I'll just watch out now.   
  
I suppose being outside is a lot better than in. Now I can think without worrying about what Potter thinks. Standing by the railing, all of the sights pass before my eyes in a hypnotic blur of trees and countryside. Finally, a beautiful ravine of sharp jagged red rock, like the cliffs in Wales. I could picture myself jumping from this train. It would be a beautiful death; my blond hair flying with my black robes, with petals of rose red blood on the dusty copper rocks. Perhaps I have been standing out here for hours, I don't know. Time loses me in folds of imagery. 


	2. Obsession

Author's note: Reviews are greatly appreciated, and constructive criticism is even better. : )   
-----------------------------------------------  
  
Hogwarts, finally. I rule this school, with the exception of Potter. Back to stupid Potter. Maybe I should stop thinking about him; that should make him go away. In the dining hall we watch the sorting hat, and welcome the new Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle are sitting on either side of me, and everyone looks at me as king of Slytherin. Even the new ones take notice, though many of them are also taking notice of the idiot Boy-who-lived. I feel sick. I want to leave this hall, quickly and abruptly, but I suppose I will wait. I wouldn't want to run into anything, or cause attention to myself in any negative way. Soon enough we will return to our dormitory, and as always, our belongings will already be there.   
  
The window by my bedside faces the courtyard. I can see the other houses from this perch, and all of the lights are out. Some lone figure sits at the window across from mine. Perhaps we are both phantoms of this night, cut from the same cloth. I almost feel that the figure is staring back. The moonlight shines dimly, and casts a silver sheen upon my blond hair, and upon the ground below. My beautiful hawk owl flies from me to find his midnight meal. I almost pity the mouse he shall find; I feel that it is I.   
  
As always, we have Potions with Gryffindor. This is the only class that I truly enjoy, perhaps because Professor Snape is teaching it, and never lets Potter get away with anything. Potter and company sit farther back, and it is not the easiest task to glance back without getting noticed. Stupid Potter would think that I was enamored. That wouldn't be right, would it? I'll just concentrate on my potions, and hope Potter will make a fool of himself.   
  
Hah ha! Stupid Longbottom has found another way to melt his bloody cauldron. Professor Snape doesn't seem too amused by the whole ordeal, and so, naturally, five points are taken from Gryffindor. I snicker, and Crabbe and Goyle follow my lead. Ah, I grow more and more tired of their company as the years progress. I don't know why I put up with them. Potter and I exchange looks of hatred. Yeah, Potter, make that face again. It looks nice on you. Hatred definitely becomes you.   
  
I received a letter from Mother and Father today. They sent me a package filled with all sorts of things. The owl had a hard time carrying it. Why do they still do this? I am not a child anymore. Sometimes I wish that they would just leave me be. Father also wants me to prepare. He said that in the note. It would be foolish to ask what for.   
  
_My Dearest son,   
  
Father and I miss you dreadfully. I hope that everything is perfect as always. Keep up the good marks, all right? I don't want to get another one of those notes saying how poorly you've done. I will send you some more sweets the next time I write.   
  
Love, Mummy   
  
Draco,   
  
You had better prepare. I expect to find you present at the next meeting. You know I have big plans for you.   
  
Father   
  
_I am not sure which one I like better. Mother is doting and childish, and Father is stern and strict. Neither letter made me feel very good. Father knows fully well that I cannot go to that meeting. If I were found out, I would be expelled. That would ruin everything.   
  
It's not as though I want to go through with the plan. I have to, or else I will ruin everything. Besides, It doesn't matter what I think. It is about honor, and I will do what is expected of me, no matter what the cost. As for the others in this world, they don't even understand the basis of this feud. Our family does; We were the ones who had our honor stolen from us. We, who were cursed with the meaning of our name. This feud has hundreds of years upon any "light" soldier who challenges it. Potter doesn't know anything; he wasn't even raised in this world. All of those opposing us, they don't even understand what Voldemort stands for. But we Malfoys do; we were there. Now the fight for honor comes upon us. We are not bad people; after all, we are standing up for what we believe in. The good side is tainted with Muggle attitudes and blood. They don't understand how we are the privileged class. After all, we have powers that Muggles can't even grasp in imagination. Muggles treat us as pariahs. Why should we revere them?   
  
Between classes, Potter, Weasley and Granger always seem to be up to something. They are always snooping around, figuring out things here and there. It is relatively simple to get them in trouble; they always seem to be where they shouldn't be. If only all of the other professors were like Professor Snape. "Harry Potter-- Our new _Celebrity _." I see right through that, and I always have. He is not the hero that everyone thinks he is. He is weak, foolish, and ever so alone. Sure, he has friends, and fans, but what is all that anyway? Something is missing, and I know what it is. He doesn't want this fame, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. Modesty, hah! If I were that famous, I would walk proudly, not like I was trying to hide. I think that that is what I loathe the most about him; he has everything I never had, and doesn't even want it.   
  
I need to write to Father and Mother. Father will be very disappointed in me, but I will just tell him that it would help the plan better if I don't attend the meeting. After all, the plan does not directly involve anyone there, so why bother? Only Father and I know anyway, after all It was my idea. I just don't think I can go through with it. Perhaps life would just be better if I threw myself from the castle walls right now. I want to run away. I suppose I need to get my priorities straight. Voldemort just seems like the easiest means to an end. Perhaps the end I am looking for is mine.   
  
No. That's not it. I suppose that these hours are hardest. It is an early morning kind of feeling. We all lie in perpetual darkness. Soon enough the ignorance of night shall be cast off, and daylight shall come upon us. Potter shall not have the glory of this victory.   
  
Nights and nightmares. They seem to go hand in hand with me. I have no trouble slipping into the darkness, but those dreaded images of things that could happen, that would happen; Oh, how they haunt me so.   
  
Potter, Potter, Potter. Everywhere I go I am haunted. Even in my dreams. Stupid Potter, why can't you just leave me alone. Why are you present even in my dreams?   
  
You should never have refused me. I would have been your greatest and most loyal ally, yet you shot me down. You of all people, You, Potter the magnificent, refused me. I grew up speaking your name, I worshiped you, and you threw that all away. It is as though you felt I was worthless. If you had just... I, well I would have been your slave.   
  
Father says I have an obsession. He told me that over the holidays. I suppose it was because I kept talking about how Potter always beats me at everything. Potter is so perfect; it's all really sickening.   
  
_ "...Everyone loves him. It seems that all you need to do to be famous is have some unsightly scar on your forehead! He always wins..."   
  
"Draco, you have already told me this at least twenty times. Really, you make it sound like you are quite ...fond of him. Don't become too obsessed, It won't pan out the way you want it."   
  
"But...I... Really, Father, that's slanderous!"   
  
_Like that can ever be true. Why would I be obsessed with Potter? Well, Mother defends me. She says that this is just healthy rivalry. Leave it to mother to think up such a story. Father says I should watch my feelings more carefully. Our little protagonist, the little savior of the mudbloods and Muggle lovers, and his whole family, they always seemed to cause trouble; take Professor Snape for instance. James Potter had to go off and ruin Snape's pride by saving him. It's bad enough being saved by someone you like; it's even worse being saved by someone you hate. 


	3. Bloodthirst

Chapter 3: Bloodthirst   
  
I suppose that greed propels everyone. Greed is the concept that holds society together. We all want something, why not just have it all? Even I (of course I), am run on greed. Some are just more power hungry than others.   
  
_" Watch your time boy. Soon enough we will get back what is ours, you and I! See, your father, mother; all of them! They don't even know what you and I know. Together we will win It back. You will just need to help me."   
  
_That's what you think.   
  
This stigma on my arm symbolizes a change in me. I now bear the mark of the betrayer. The bittersweet pain is carved into my flesh for eternity. I am the talebearer.   
  
What the dark Lord desires is the easy part. He needs Potter. Potter shall be the key to immortal life. He can bridge the gap between the two worlds. I suppose I shall follow the Lord; after all I must. I'll be travelling through hell, and I will need his guidance.   
  
If there was ever a hope, that you could achieve something that you desired greatly, even with such risks as mortal death, would you pursue it? There is something that is wanted more than life itself inside me, and a glimmer of hope that I will once again possess such greatness as my family had so long ago. It isn't about me anymore! It is about honor; pride! He took that away. And I shall get it back, no matter what the cost.   
  
[pause.]   
  
Potter's on my mind again. Why him? I feel drawn to him, like some magnetic pull, and yet I despise him so. I feel I am losing my grip. I didn't even insult him today. Through potions, all I did was stare. It was all unconscious, though. I would never consciously stare at him. Would I?   
  
He noticed, too. That's what brought me out of the trace-like state I was in. I turned away silently, not knowing how to respond to his silent stare. How dreadfully embarrassing. If I keep this up, he will think I am enamored. If only Father could see me now. He would tell me off.   
  
I almost forget how I should act around him. I need to get a grip. After all, we are enemies. He hates me, and would never lose his senses like I just did. He doesn't care at all of me. Why would he?   
  
Then again, he did stare back.   
  
Oh, how I hate him! I hate this lost feeling; this bewildered sense. It won't last long, I hope. It is just nervousness. About the plan, of course. Because I don't care at all of him.   
  
But what makes him change in me. Something inside me is unraveling. He is no longer that "specky four eyes" he once was. He is something else now. Something I cannot quite grasp. And yet, something significant, like a painting that is wretched and yet secretly beautiful. You would never want it for yourself, yet burning it would seem almost impious. It is a secret desire that disgusts the senses.   
  
I remember when I was younger, back at the Manor; I used to play in the gardens. My favourite was the rose garden. The high walls seemed to protect from the elements. I felt made of the sun. My hands were always full of roses. One bush was incredibly ugly. It's gnarled, knotted trunk and deformed roses made the other bushes stand out brilliantly. It seemed withered and wrinkled with age. I hated it. I refused to look at it; it was almost offensive. When the gardener dug it up, and replaced it with another fresh, beautiful ordinary rosebush, I cried. Why does that remind me of now?   
  
Perhaps I really... No, that's not it. Definitely not.   
  
-------------------   
  
On the 28th of this month, February, before the leap, the door of time shall be opened. From there we shall begin our journey into a shadowy hell. If I have it my way, then Potter will survive that leap. After all, even he has significance. While the Dark Lord would destroy such an angel, I would not have it. I have one more use for him.   
  
But now is the hard part. Protecting that angel from his supposed fate. Voldemort plans to trap him. I am to lead Potter from the safety of Hogwarts, into an unsheltered part of the forest. Potter would be killed the instant he set foot in that clearing. The only way for the door to be opened, would be for blood to be spilt. Another need be in Potter's place. And I have a plan.   
  
_Dear Father,   
  
I need your help with the plan. Just bring what I requested to Virgil Point. It will help me in foiling the Lord's trap. Don't let Mummy know what you are bringing me, you know how she gets. I send my regards.   
  
Draco   
  
_Father will help me. After all, all we have is family. We must rely on only each other. Only Father understands me now. Mother of course is doting as ever, but she doesn't seem to comprehend much anymore. He will bring what is needed. After all, what is a simple mortal life? Father taught me that. Only one more death, then Father and my hands will be washed clean of the blood.   
  
All over Hogwarts, there is an unusual buzz of anticipation. Slytherins are becoming more and more brash, I have noticed. I can only think of how traitorous I shall become. 'Tis quite funny how cut and dry we truly are. There are no mediums here. I am the only center.   
  
All I hear is about how I will finally triumph and take my place as heir of Slytherin. If only they knew what that means. Ignorance is really quite a fuck-trip, isn't it? We are all sitting pretty, enjoying ourselves while someone screws us over.   
  
Voldemort has set hints everywhere. It isn't too hard to see what he has planned. All of the young death-eaters-to-be are casually remarking to themselves about the brilliant secret of Voldemort, in earshot of our lovely protagonist. Really, I am amazed Potter isn't smarter than that. Then again, Crabbe and Goyle ARE stupid enough to tell the enemy the plan. Potter has other ways of obtaining information, as well. I bet the teachers are buzzing about it. Potter always seems to know what the teachers are doing. Teacher's pet, I'd say.   
  
So, naturally, Potter knows Voldemort will be waiting for him, and he is too stupid to realize it's a trap. Potter will most likely march into battle, sword held high. I have to keep an eye on him. That won't be too hard, considering my staring problem.   
  
All we have to do now is wait. The days are slowly ticking by. Voldemort waits for the day when he will taste Potter's blood. I wait for the day when I will taste his. Like I said before, greed runs everything.


End file.
